


We Inherit Sin

by ponkruck



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - I'm Not Okay Video, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-09
Updated: 2013-03-11
Packaged: 2017-11-28 19:22:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/678017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ponkruck/pseuds/ponkruck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The thing is, Frank never meant to hurt anyone, to make anyone mad. He never meant to disappoint anybody because he's a rotten drug addict. And the thing is, he knows his mom is just trying to help, but he's not sure if Catholic school is the best solution. Yeah, he's pretty sure it'll just make things worse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> PROLOGUE!.....let me know if you like it enough for me to continue!! constructive criticism and all that jazz is much appreciated (✿◠‿◠) it's just the prologue, so no frerard YET, but i PROMISE it will come... and by that I mean ejaculate. NOW, ONWARD TO THE LAND OF SHITTY FAN FICTION, MY FAITHFUL STEED! HOORAH!

~~~

 

For some reason, it’s hard for people to believe that guys have feelings.

 

 I think it's because we’re so good at hiding them.

 

Take me for example. I like drowning out all the guilt and shame and loneliness in a bottle of vodka, maybe a half-smoked joint, some white powder in a line all nice and neat. 

 

Sure, it sounds dangerous, maybe insane, maybe a little suicidal, but what else is a poor, fatherless sixteen year old supposed to do? Pray? God damn, I  _wish_  it was that easy.

 

 ~~~

 

I get home at 3 a.m. I don’t remember how. I run up the front pathway to my house, dodging the trees that reach out at me with greedy limbs and wicked smiles.

 

I fumble with keys for what seems like forever and then I’m opening my door and inhaling the sweet scent of mildew and burnt whatever-mom-left-in-the-toaster-today.

 

My dog jumps at me.

_Huh._ I think to myself. _I didn’t know we had a dog._

The pet that I don’t actually have barks. I run into the living room, but it follows me there, all foaming mouth and glowing red eyes. I’m screaming, screaming, my living room is getting smaller, I’m bleeding, everything is red.

 

And then I hear my mom yell my name. And then I feel a wave of guilt.

 

And then everything is black.

 

 

 ~~~

 

The way I see it, there are two levels of stress. One that’s healthy, and one that leads to self-inflicted shot gun wounds.

 

I go back and forth between the two.

 

It’s noon when I wake up, lying on the living room floor and resting my head in a pool of my own liquor scented sick.

 

Then my mom is pulling me up and giving me a washcloth. Wiping my face, I let her grab my hand and pull me into the kitchen, sit me down at the breakfast table. She sits down across the table and stares at me. I stare at my hands.

 

After a while, she says, “Frank.”, quietly. Her voice is hoarse.

 

“’M sorry.” I mumble.

 

And that’s it. I can’t say anything else when my throat feels like sand paper, whether that’s a lame excuse to avoid talking or not. My mom slides a glass of water to me. I drink it down, still avoiding her eyes. There’s too much shame in them.

 

She hands me a piece of paper silently. I read the title.

 

‘ _Our Lady of Sorrows Scholarship Options’_

 

“What’s this?” I ask. My mom doesn’t answer so I keep reading.

 

‘ _Here at Our Lady of Sorrows Private Catholic School, we offer extensive coverage of all core classes as well as extra-curricular activities and Catholic studies. We only want the best for our students here, and because of this, our tuition can be hard to afford; but we believe that education is worth_ any _price.’_

_For this reason, we give the opportunity to apply for a scholarship._

_Our scholarship requires the applying student to take a written entry test or meet with the school counselor and principal for an interview. If the student is accepted, their tuition will be paid for in full, however they will be subject to expulsion if they do not meet scholarship requirements. (Adequate grades, behavior, following of the school rules, and attendance)._

 

The rest of the page is just a lot of fine print and blanks for signatures, so I stop reading.

 

“Mom…” I choke out. I lift my gaze up to meet hers, and it feels like I’m vomiting again, the guilt rising up in my throat like bile, burning the inside of my mouth.

 

With a blank face, she says, “A friend of mine is a member of the Our Lady of Sorrows board of education, and I’ve managed to pull some strings to get you on the scholarship.”

 

And maybe private Catholic school is the _worst_ place to send a 4’9 sixteen year old with no father and a drug problem, but that doesn’t matter, because I'll never argue my way out of this one. No amount of screaming and yelling and punching walls is going to save me this time.

 

Besides, my throat hurts.

 

So I look up at my mom and say okay. She sighs. I cringe.

 

“You can finish sophomore year at Belleville, but you’ll start at Our Lady in the fall.” My mother walks out of the kitchen and I’m left alone, eyeing the scholarship form like it might bite me.

 

But hey, when you’ve just woken up after an acid trip gone wrong, anything seems possible.


	2. Cold Hearted Catholics

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to anyone and everyone who is reading! IT GIVES ME WILL TO LIVE. anywho, this is technically chapter 1, because the last one was just a prologue. Comments are always welcome, good and bad! (not TOO bad, of course, I'm very fragile. Constructive criticism is great, though!) YAY! ZOINK!

 

~~~

If I had a choice between being burned alive and private school, well, I’d probably choose private school.

 

_But,_ I would _definitely_ have to think about it first.

 

My mother drops me off at the front of Our Lady of Sorrows Catholic High School at ass-o-clock in the morning. It’s late September, and school’s been in session for almost a month already, thus making my situation that much more panic-attack worthy. The second I step out of the car my mom peels away from the curb, tires screeching like nazguls. She doesn’t say goodbye. She does things like that now, but I don't let it bother me. After all, I deserve it. 

 

I deserve a lot of things. A lot of things _worse_ than catholic school and a disappointed mother.

 

The sun is bright and welcoming, I feel like I should be dancing and singing about how this is the first day of the rest of my life.

 

But at the same time, as I’m walking up the front steps of Our Lady of Sorrows, I feel like I’m walking down death row.

 

Today is the first day of the end of my life.

 

At the top of the stairs I push open heavy glass doors. _Here we go._

 

“Hello!” A short, pencil thin woman smiles at me from behind the front desk. “You must be our new student!”

 

“Yeah, uh, Frank Iero.” I try to smile back at her, but it probably comes out looking like a grimace.

 

“Well, it’s very nice to meet you! I’m Mrs. Connelly! On behalf of all the students and staff here at Our Lady of Sorrows, I’d like to welcome you to the family!”

 

“Thank you, miss.”

 

Mrs. Connelly smiles. She swivels around in her chair, starts rifling through shelves and drawers set up behind her.

 

“Okay, Frank,” She says, turning back around with a stressfully large stack of papers. “All of this needs to be taken home and signed by you and your mom before the end of the week, okay?” I nod.

 

“This,” She lays another piece of paper on top of the stack. “Is your schedule. 2 classes in the morning, lunch, 2 classes in the afternoon. Finding classes might be hard at first, so here’s a map.” She hands me a diagram of the school. “And lastly,” She disappears under the desk and comes back with a stack of neatly folded clothing. My uniform.

 

“You can change in the nurse’s bathroom, if you’d like, and then you should be good to go!”

 

“Great,” I respond, “Thank you, miss.” I do my creepy grimace-smile thingy at her.

 

“You’re quite welcome! And good luck!”

 

_Yeah,_ I’m thinking as I go to the nurse’s bathroom, _I’m going to need it._

 ~~~ 

With the stack of papers in hand, I’m walking down an empty hallway in my brand-spanking-new uniform, equipped with a fancy striped tie and the ability to lower my self esteem and what little amount of dignity I have left.

 

I find the locker listed on my schedule and dump the papers and my other clothing inside, slam it shut with shaking hands.

 

It’s slowly dawning on me how terrified I am. It’s unrealistic, how I feel like I might faint any minute now. I lean my back against the lockers and shut my eyes.

 

_Calm down, Frank_. I tell myself. _You can do this._

 

But I’ve never been good at lying to myself.

 

With an embarrassing amount of effort I push myself off the wall and start searching for my first class, English, according to my schedule.

 

I try to block out all the thoughts that make my skin crawl with anxiety, focusing only on walking, breathing, basic motor skills.

 

_Left foot. Right Foot. Breath in. Breath Out._

And then I turn the corner and run straight into an opening door. The guy opening it stares at me with an expression of boredom mixed with irritation.

 

“Sorry, I’m really sorry, god—“

 

“It’s fine,” He says, a little angrily. _Great job, Frank. Your first day and people already dislike you._

 

The guy still holds the door open. It reads ‘supply closet’ in fancy gold lettering. Considering he’s wearing a uniform like my own, I’m wondering why a student would be in the supply closet. But then I get a good look at the guy, and the flush of red on his cheeks, and the way his shoulders move up and down violently as he breaths, his dark hair, messy and in his face, his crooked tie.

 

_Oh,_ I’m thinking, _It’s_ that _kind of school._

At that moment a girl walks out of the closet, smoothing out her hair, adjusting her uniform skirt, and sending a fleeting, starry eyed glance at the guy. She smiles at him, and he returns it weakly, his eyes stay uninterested. She looks at me with a confused crease in her forehead, and then she’s off down the halls, straightening her uniform out on wobbly legs.

 

I look back at the guy, who’s raising a challenging eyebrow at me, smirking slightly.

 

“Yeah, um, sorry.” I say, looking down at my shoes. “I’m new here, it’s uh… it’s Frank.” I extend a hand, but the guy just keeps smirking. So maybe he’s kind of a dick, but I can see why the girl had been so starry eyed. The guy’s blush is calming down, and his skin is pale, a contrast to his dark mess of hair, sticking out in different directions in a way that doesn’t look forced or intentional. But regardless of the boyish charm and sparkling hazel eyes, the look of disinterest is still plain and unpleasant on his face.

 

“Welcome to Our Lady, Frank.” He says sarcastically. He shoves his hands in his pockets and starts to walk away. “You’ll love it here.” He calls over his shoulder.

 

My hopes that the kids here would be nice, welcoming people fly out the window.

 

Rather than keeping up the positive attitude bull shit like all the self help books my mom bought me said to do, I go ahead and admit the fact that I am completely fucked.

I start walking again, watching out for any other fornicating Catholics that might pop up out of nowhere.

 

I can tell it’s going to be a long day.

~~~ 

By 3:00 I’m completely exhausted, having gone 7 whole hours without so much as the feeling of a cigarette between my fingers. I’m fidgety and pissed off and as I retrieve my papers and clothing from my locker after the last bell rings it’s all I can do not to rip one out of the pack in my pants pocket, smoke it right in the middle of a catholic school hallway.

 

I grab my stuff and get the hell out of the school. I’m pretty sure I can’t hold out for the 20 minute bus ride to my house, so I head around to the back of the school and light up, savoring the warmth filling my lungs after that first inhale.

 

It’s when I’m about halfway through the cigarette that I hear the shouting.

 

“Hey! You!” I know I’m fucked before I even see the tall, scary, jock guy running towards me. No use running, no use fighting. So I stand still against the brick wall of the school, a deer caught in headlights.

 

“No smoking on school grounds! What are you, new or something?” He takes the cigarette from my fingers, but I guess he doesn’t want to litter or something, because he just holds it in his hands, glaring at it with disgust.

 

“Yeah, I’m new here…  I didn’t realize that— uh, sorry.” I can’t decide if I’m apologizing for smoking or for my extreme lack of conversational skills. Probably both.

 

“Well, don’t let it happen again. We take the rules very seriously here.”

 

“Dually noted.” I mumble.

 

The dude shoves me into the wall. I’m pretty sure it’s not a catholic gesture of forgiveness.

 

“Try not to make me, or anybody else here, angry.” He looks me up and down, judging. “I can tell you’re not like most of us. You’re one of the scholarship dicks. Think they’re so cool ‘cause they got in here for brains and talent. They didn’t though. It’s because people like me, people that _matter_ , are nice enough to let you in.”

 

“Listen, I’m really sorry about smoking. It was just a misunderstanding. I wasn’t trying to—“

 

“Just watch your back.” He interrupts, shoving me to the side and stomping away, my cigarette still in his meaty hands.

 

“Jesus,” I mutter to myself, trying to make sense of what just happened.

 

“Tell me about it.” I jump about 15 feet in the air and turn to see a lanky kid with huge, low sitting glasses walking up to me.

 

 “I’m Mikey!” He stretches a hand out to me, and, since he doesn’t seem like the type to pull the wrath of God out of his ass, I shake it tentatively.

 

“Frank.”

 

“New?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

Mikey laughs in a way that isn’t cruel or mocking, and I smile. “Don’t worry, not _everyone_ here sucks.” He pauses. “Well, okay, most do, but a few of us are nice!” He says it like he’s trying to convince himself as much as me.

 

“Well, that’s good, I guess…”

 

“There’s just not very many kids on scholarship. What year are you?”

 

“11th.” I reply easily.

 

“Yeah, so am I. I don’t think I saw you in any of my classes. That’s okay though, you can eat lunch with me and my friends, they’re on scholarship too, and we can hang out after school, and…” I’m already zoning out, letting Mikey do the talking as we slowly start to walk off the school grounds, towards the city bus stop.

 

“…There’s also Bob, and Ray, They’re really great nice. And then there’s my brother, Gerard.”

 

“Gerard?” I ask, half listening. Weird name.

 

“Yeah, he’s a senior. He doesn’t really talk to us during school, but you’ll meet him if you come over.”

 

“You taking the bus?” I ask him when we reach the bus stop.

 

“Yeah, I live on like, the other side of town.”

 

I nod, falling back into the comfort of Mikey talking and me not paying attention. Mikey doesn’t seem to mind. I’m extremely thankful for that.

 

We board the bus, and Mikey still doesn’t shut up. He tells me how he and his brother were accepted to Our Lady because their mom used to teach there or something. He tells me that all the rich kids are basically the spawn of Satan, and that they will murder you mentally, socially, _and,_ physically. By now I’ve given up on trying to stay optimistic.

 

“Just watch out for them, they like to pick targets.” He says when we reach his stop. If we were in a scary movie, this would be the part where the camera zooms in close and suspenseful music plays. “See you later, Frank.” He smiles easily and waves goodbye.

 

I would tell myself that Catholics are forgiving people, that nobody’s coming after me, that I won’t be made a target, but, seriously, who am I kidding?

 

Catholics man, they’re worse than liberals.

 

 


	3. We've Never Met

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this has taken an unusually long amount of time to finish, i'm truly sorry if you were waiting for it (you probably weren't) anywho, I'm really just trying to move the story along, get through all of the introductions and meeting new people and what not. this is kind of a filler, but at the same time it's not! NEXT CHAPTER THE EXCITEMENT WILL START! ((and it will also be up sooner than this one was, again I'm sorry for that)) kkk that's everything! enjoy the story! me love you long time! (;
> 
> ps. i really wanted to get this up so i didn't edit as thoroughly as i probably should have. THERE ARE DEFINITELY SOME MISTAKES SO JUST PREPARE YOURSELF.

On Tuesday I find Mikey on my way to lunch, or rather, he finds me; screaming my name from across the hallway.

 

“Hey, Frank.” He says as he runs up to me. “Good second day so far?”

 

I resist the urge to ask him why he’s being so nice to me. “Yeah, great.” I say instead, trying and failing to keep the monotone out of my voice.

 

We walk in silence through the throng of students, all in uniform, all the same, with their carefully styled hair and their white teeth and their handbags worth more than my house. Guys with big lacrosse sticks and at least 2 feet on me walk by, I recognize the one from yesterday, the one that went all psycho crazy on me for smoking.

 

“Shit.” I whisper to myself, grabbing Mikey by the arm and pulling him fast through the crowd.

 

“Dude, relax.” Mikey says calmly when we reach an emptier part of the school.

 

“No! They’re hunting me! They’re going to murder me!”

 

“Well, _outside_ of school, yeah.” Mikey replies, leading me to the school’s big glass doors. We walk out into the sunlight, where a few students sit by themselves on the front steps.

 

“But we’re _in_ school right now, there are teachers everywhere. Plus, to these kids, Jesus is only watching from 8 am to 3 pm Mondays through Fridays.” He smirks, running ahead of me and hopping on top of the sidewall of the stairs. I follow his lead, looking out at the other kids sitting outside.

 

“Are these the scholarship kids or something?” I ask Mikey. Yesterday I hid in the bathroom during lunch, but we’ll go ahead and pretend that didn’t happen, pretend that I’m a lot cooler than I actually am.

 

“Yeah, at least, the ones that have accepted their true place on the social ladder.”

 

“Which is?”

 

Mikey says, “Oh, we aren’t even _on_ it.” And I laugh, watching more kids walk on to the steps, greeting their friends and falling into easy and familiar chatter, laughing and throwing food playfully like _real_ people. It reminds of Belleville High, you know, without all the teen pregnancies and the graffiti and the drug busts. It feels almost safe.

 

“Mikey!” Somebody calls from behind us.

 

We both turn. “Oh! Here comes Bob!” Mikey says, waving at ‘Bob’ as the blonde teenager walks towards us.

 

“Bob?” I whisper through my teeth at Mikey, smiling at the stranger as politely as I can.

 

“Didn’t I tell you about him?” And then Bob’s climbing on to the sidewall next to Mikey.

 

“Bob, this is Frank, he’s new here. Frank, this is Bob.” I look at Bob, who smiles surprisingly nicely at me, considering the fact that the guy is a little bit _terrifying_ , with piercing blue eyes and the beginnings of a beard.

 

“Hey, man.” He extends his hand and I smile back at him.

 

“Where’s Ray?” Mikey asks Bob.

 

“He’s got practice.”

 

Mikey turns to me. “Right, Ray’s in the church band, he plays guitar.”

 

I nod, my vocal chords lost somewhere along with my confidence. Nice people, in a lot of ways, are far scarier than mean people.

 

But Bob pulls a bag of fruit snacks out of his backpack, and Mikey starts making fun of him, and I feel slightly better, like maybe I _won’t_ get eaten alive.

 

Bob calls, “Heads up!” to me, and I catch a fruit snack in my mouth as he throws it. It seems easy, to fall into a routine like this. I can feel the weight on my shoulders let up slightly, leaning back and listening to Mikey and Bob go on about school and music and things that don’t have to ruin my life

 

 

After lunch I have science, and, as it turns out, Bob is in my class. I sit down next to him, but when the bell rings and the chemistry teacher, Ms. Lynch, walks in, the first thing she does is list out our lab partners for the new unit.

 

She calls my name and points to a lab table on the opposite side of the room. Shooting Bob a ‘save me’ glance I stand up and walk to the table, avoiding the not-so-subtle stares of the kids that have no idea who I am or where I came from.

 

Ms. Lynch calls a ‘Stephanie Sunderhaft’ and points to me. Shit. Stephanie, a short girl with curly, bouncy blonde hair glides, fucking _glides_ , over to my table. I have to physically restrain myself from moving away slightly. No, I don’t believe in cooties. _However_ , I _do_ believe in avoiding rich girls who most likely come with rich boyfriends who most likely come with jealousy and anger management issues. So yes, I plan on staying away from that shit. Sue me.

 

Except Ms. Lynch passes our labs out and tells us to get started, and when I force myself to look over at Stephanie, she looks back with eyes sparkling and lips sticky with gloss, and call me crazy, but the look seems to mean more than ‘pass the microscope’.

 

I groan inwardly.

 

“So, Frank.” She says in a weird, drawn out voice. “You’re on scholarship?”

 

“Uh, yeah.” I respond, focusing on the chemical equation on my paper.

 

“That’s really cool. It sounds so difficult, to work so hard for something like this.”

 

And god damn, she’s twirling her hair now, for fuck’s sake. I can’t tell if it’s cute or the most fucking annoying thing on Earth, but it’s probably both. I’m a teenage boy, I _have_ to think it’s at least a _little_ cute.

 

“Yeah, well,” I say, filling the test tube with a teaspoon of baking soda. “I guess God works in mysterious ways.” Stephanie starts nodding her head like I’ve just discovered the meaning of life, and it saddens me how few people can tell when someone is mocking them.

 

 

By Friday things are less alien. I haven’t gotten beaten up yet, but I’m pretty sure it’s only a matter of time. Mikey says it’s all in my head, but if the dirty looks I get from jocks in the hallway are anything to go by, I’d say I’ll be dead meat by the end of the month. Probably sooner.

 

“They won’t beat you up unless you actually _do_ something.” He tells me as the junior and senior classes make their way to the cathedral for morning mass. According to Mikey it’s every Friday, and according to my droopy eyelids I really just want to be in bed right now.

 

“It’s how they work,” Mikey continues on as we climb velvet carpeted stairs to the balcony pews. “somebody does something they don’t like, it doesn’t seem as sinful and damnation-worthy to shove them around a bit.”

 

“How are they supposed to know what’s not sinful and what is?” I ask, exasperated.

 

“ _That_ , my friend, is a _very_ good question.” Mikey says, patting me on the head. We grab a pew in the back row.

 

“And I’m assuming God has the answer?” I ask.

 

“If you want him to.”

 

Sometimes I want to punch Mikey in his stupid philosophical face, and I’ve only known the bastard for a few days.

 

Bob walks up the stairs a few minutes later, but rather than sliding in next to us he goes to the sound board at the edge of the balcony.

 

“Bob works the technical shit.” Mikey explains. “It’s how he pays for his scholarship. He’s more talented and less expensive than any professional the school might’ve hired.” And damn, does Bob seem to know what he’s doing, wasting no time in moving the dials up and down on the board with expertise.

 

A camera turns on and the altar is blown up on the screen above the organs. The pastor is pacing on the marble floor of the stage, holding a tattered bible and sticky notes, reciting his scripture under his breath. Behind him the church choir is lining up, followed by the band.

 

“That’s Ray.” Mikey whispers, pointing out a tall, bushy haired kid holding a guitar. I watch as he and the band arrange themselves at the back of the stage and begin tuning their instruments, strumming along with each other, adjusting, strumming again.

 

“Are they all on scholarship?” I ask.

 

“Yeah, it’s just like Bob’s situation.” Mikey smirks sideways at me. “Just goes to show you that all the talent comes from the kids like us.”

 

I wonder what Mikey thinks _I’m_ here for. I don’t see any good reason why I have to tell him it’s for tripping on acid, though, so, if anyone asks, my test scores are through the roof and I have a charming personality.

 

When the sermon finally starts, the pastor welcomes us with a softly spoken good morning. He goes on about being pure in all of our endeavors as high school students, and not even ten minutes in I’m out. Mikey shakes me awake what feels like 5 seconds later, pulling me up as the church choir sings and the band plays. Everyone is singing, some people have their eyes closed, this weird spiritual look on their face like they actually feel closer to god, like he’s holding their hands or something. All I feel is a breeze from the rafters. I look down at the band, at Ray strumming skillfully, his face calm. He’s really good, much better than me, but, than again, pretty much everyone is better than me, considering I taught myself on the shitty acoustic my Dad left behind.

 

The sermon goes on, I try to stay awake, but the lights are dim and the pew is velvet, and I’m falling asleep before I can stop myself.

 

I wake up with a start, Mikey shoving at my shoulder. The pews are slowly emptying.

 

“Feel closer to God?” He asks sarcastically.

 

“Like he’s holding me in his arms.” I reply groggily, rubbing at my eyes, thick with sleep. I can’t really be held responsible for falling asleep; it’s not my fault the school decided to make the pews so damn comfy. I follow Mikey out of our row and down to the stairs. We meet up with Bob, who’s turning the dials on the sound board to zero and doing other technical shit I couldn’t explain if I tried.

 

“Remind me why I do this, Mikey.” He says, exasperated as he rushes to turn off and lock up all the equipment.

 

Mikey rolls his eyes. “To pay for school so you can do something with your life and not be a failure like your drunkard father.” He says in a voice I assume to be a mockery of Bob’s mother’s.

 

“Yeah, thanks.” Bob mumbles. He shuts the sound board off completely and looks at us. “Shall we?” And I’ve never appreciated two words more. I don’t know if getting out of class is worth it if we spend the whole time listening to a live public service announcement.

 

No offence, God.

 

“Ray was pretty good.” I say as we walk down the steps, the last of the students to exit the cathedral.

 

“He’s fantastic.” Mikey agrees. “He’s got practice again at lunch today, but everyone’s coming to my house tonight, so you’ll meet him there, assuming you want to go, of course.”

 

My heart flutters stupidly, because, come on, _real friends. REAL FRIENDS._

 

“Where do you live?” I ask as we cross the hallway leading into the main part of the school.

 

“Do you know where Fern Village is?” He asks me.

 

“Yeah, that’s not far from where I live.”

 

Mikey smiles. “’Kay, well, we’re like, the 2nd house on 3rd street, and we have a huge blue flower pot and a knocked over bird bath in our front yard. Go around to the side of the house and knock on the basement window, we’ll let you in through there.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Unless you want to have tea and a thirty minute conversation with Mrs. Way, I would just use the window.” Bob says, smirking.

 

I smile. “If you say so.”

 

“Remember, blue flower pot! Bird bath! 3rd street!” Mikey shouts as the three of us go our separate ways down different halls.

 

“Bird bath. Flower. Got it!” I shout back.

 

“8 o’ clock!” He yells before he’s swallowed by the crowd of students.

 

I smile to myself, baffled by the fact that people actually _want_ to talk to me.

 

 

At 7:50 I grab my bike and start towards Fern Village. I leave in a hurry, stuffing a half empty pack of cigarettes and a screwy lighter into my pockets, yelling to my mom that I’m going out. I had expected at least a quiet, ‘When will you be home?’ But she doesn’t even do _that_ anymore. The majority of our conversations are ‘dinner’s ready’ and ‘wake up, time for school’. It feels like a bullet in my chest whenever I think about my Mom, my Dad, what I did to them, what I did that was so bad, that made my Dad leave. Of course it was my fault, who else’s would it be? My mom’s?

 

My mom’s a fucking saint, it couldn’t be her fault.

 

It’s always my fault, and, like I said, it feels like a bullet thinking about it, so I choose not to.

 

Rule number one of having feelings: shove them in an armored van, a high-security bank vault.

 

Shove them in a fucking bottle and throw them out to sea, pray that no one ever finds them.

 

The sky is pink and the air smells like stale cigarettes, but that’s nothing new. It wouldn’t be Jersey without smoke filled and polluted air.

 

I pass by 1st street, 2nd street, and then I’m turning onto 3rd. I glance at the houses, screeching to a stop when I see a tipped over and cracked bird bath and a blue flower pot filled with dead leaves sitting outside a rundown house. It looks a lot like my own home, in all honesty.

 

 I walk my bike around to the side of the house and spot a low to the ground window, filled with light. Throwing my bike to the side, I walk up to the window and kneel down, knock on the smudged glass.

 

Mikey’s face appears in the window, and he yells at me through the glass.

 

“Password?”

 

“Let me in, fucker, it’s cold out here.” I tell him, breathing into my hands. He laughs and steps aside, allowing me to awkwardly shove my legs into the room, slipping in and landing uncomfortably on the floor.

 

“God damn, I would’ve just sat through tea with your mother, that was way to much work.” Mikey laughs, and I greet Bob, who’s sitting on a ripped up couch. The bushy haired kid, Ray, sits next to him.

 

“Hey.” He says. “I’m Ray.”

 

“Frank.” I reply. “You were really good this morning.”

 

Ray smiles easily. “Well, it’s always been a dream of mine to play in a church school band.”

 

 Laughing, I look around, taking in the aspects of Mikey’s basement. It’s dimly lit and musty, the ceilings low. The walls are covered in posters and pictures and doodles, the ratty couch currently occupied by Bob and Ray sits on one end of the room next to a dusty stereo held together with duct tape. On the opposite end of the room is a bed, or rather, a mattress, and next to it is a desk, occupied by someone with his back turned to the rest of us, someone with his elbow propped up on the table, holding a cigarette between two skinny, ghostly pale fingers.

 

It’s funny how you can meet a guy one time, just _one_ time, and you still recognize him anywhere. It’s funny how certain people get stuck in your head like that.

 

Because I know those fingers, I know that matted black hair, sticking up in every direction. And the second I’m thinking _Oh shit, I need to get out of here before he sees me_ , he’s turning around in his chair, and his eyes meet mine immediately, and I feel my face burn up with embarrassment, remembering my first day at Our Lady. Remembering the guy with the smirk, and the hazel eyes, and the uneven breathing.

 

I’m expecting a stare down, but he looks away almost immediately, and it’s like I’ve never met him.

 

And I haven’t. Not officially, at least. I don’t even know his _name,_ for fuck’s sake. I just happened to see him in a somewhat post-coital state, in the middle of school, in a supply closet. No big deal.

 

I rub my eyes, knowing Mikey will read the gesture as ‘I’m tired’ rather than ‘oh shit it’s that one guy from that one time’.

 

“Frank,” He says. “This is my brother, Gerard.” He leads me over and I feel like I’m walking straight into the lion’s mouth. Gerard is leaning over the back of his chair, resting his chin on his folded arms and staring up at Mikey and I with the look of boredom that he seems to always be wearing.  

 

“Hi.” I say, keeping my voice monotone. I’m hoping he forgot, but it’s wishful thinking.

 

“Hey.” Gerard replies, raising an eyebrow at me. I’m afraid of what might happen, if Gerard hates me or not, if Mikey can tell that I’ve seen his brother after he fucked some rich girl in a supply closet.

 

But nothing happens. I look at Gerard, he looks back at me with annoyingly hypnotic hazel eyes, I look down at the floor, and then Mikey’s ‘leaving us to it’; wandering off to get beer.

 

“So,” Gerard starts, voice thick with sarcasm. “Frank. How do you like Our Lady? Having fun? Good times? Good friends? Memories?”

 

“Sure.” I say, shrugging my shoulders and looking for something to busy my hands with. Which, for the record, are definitely _not_ shaking.

 

“Finding God alright?”

 

It’s funny, the amount of satire Gerard manages to shove into his voice, but I don’t dare laugh. I’m still not sure which is scarier to face; Gerard or the jocks.

 

“Yeah, I’m seeing him everywhere.” I say lamely. Gerard smirks at me.

 

“God, my friend.” I have no idea what he means. “God.” He repeats, and I look up at him to see him smiling, not cruelly, but not very kindly, either. he’s just smiling, pure and honest.

 

I can’t stop myself from smiling back. And so what if I’m still terrified for my life by Gerard. A smile’s a smile, right? I mean, it’s gotta count for _something_ , right?

 

Mikey comes back with beers for everybody, throwing two to Bob and Ray, who still sit on the couch, laughing and talking about something like they’re _already_ drunk, and I’ve never been so grateful in my life. I spare one last glance at Gerard and find him staring back at me with frightening intensity.

 

I turn away, towards Ray and Bob, and accept a beer from Mikey, opening it with ~~shaking~~ steady fingers.

 

I start chugging, sighing in relief as my judgment grows fuzzy and the alcohol takes over, washing away the anxiety.

 

Minutes turn into hours and relaxed conversations turn into slurred shouting and rough-housing and I’m pretty sure I try to teach Bob and Ray to tango, and then, sometime later, I’m collapsing onto the floor, passing out to the sound of good old Billie Joe singing about salmonella poison in a gravelly voice.

 

 


	4. Trainwreck

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> omg sorry that this chapter is kinda short and angsty, it's really just a continuation of the last chapter. SORRY FOR THE SHIT QUALITY. but yeah hope you enjoy it anyways!!!!! *_*

I wake up to a mouth full of carpet, my face shoved into the basement floor. It takes me awhile to understand what’s going on, where I am, but eventually the drunken events of last night come back to me. Or, maybe the drunken events of _to_ night, because as I lift my head slightly and force my eyes open, the basement is still dark and the sky outside the window is pitch black. Honestly, who the fuck knows what time it is. Who the fuck cares what time it is when your head feels like its been pelted with rocks.

I groan and turn onto my side, facing the staircase leading up to the rest of the house. I hear movement somewhere above me and force my eyes to open again. A light is on somewhere upstairs, shining down into the basement. I groan, press my hand into my skull like it might actually help the pounding in my head. It only makes it worse, so I accept the fact that lying on the ground won’t make my hangover-from-hell any better and push myself up.

With an embarrassing amount of effort I stumble up the stairs and into the Way’s kitchen, flooded with warm light. I squint and groan again, waiting for my eyes to adjust. They do, and the first thing I see is Gerard, who’s leaning against the counter and pouring coffee into a mug.

He looks up at me, his eyes droopy with sleep and shadowed with gray-purple. “Coffee?” He offers, his voice scratchy. 

I don’t know if my voice is working, and I’m to lazy to try, so I just nod at him and press my fingers against my temples.

He turns around and busies himself with pulling an extra mug out of the cabinet and asking me how I take my coffee.

“Uh… hot.” I manage to choke out.

Gerard pours scorching, tar black coffee into the mug and hands it to me, relaxing back against the counter again. I hold the mug to my face with both hands, breathing in the heat, sighing in the relief it almost immediately gives me.

“You look like shit.” Gerard says, looking me over. I take a gulp of the bitter liquid and look back up at him.

“Thanks.” I say. Gerard purses his lips, unusually thoughtful. I don’t press him for what he’s thinking about. No, I don’t know him well enough to do that. Instead, we stand in silence for awhile, drinking our coffee.

“Why did you come to Our Lady?” He says suddenly, and my head jerks up. His eyebrow is raised expectantly.

“What do you mean?” I ask, looking everywhere but at Gerard, afraid of the piercing glare he’s most likely shooting my direction.

“I mean, why the _fuck_ would you transfer to Our Lady? What could possibly…” He searches for the right word. “ _compel_ you to actually _want_ to be at a catholic school? And an expensive as shit one no less.” It’s the first time anyone’s asked me, and I’m still a little bit tipsy, and intimidated, and I’m not prepared to _talk_ to anybody, fuck.

“I don’t know.” I grit out, probably too violently, and then I’m gulping down the coffee and it’s like fire in my throat. I wince and swallow it down, and the burn feels just like bile, just like that night 4 months ago, and it’s pathetic how scared that makes me, the memories breaking through the dam I’ve built in my brain. I sip down more and feel like I might choke from the burn.

“Okay, I think that’s enough coffee.” Gerard’s hands are suddenly over mine, taking my mug away and speaking in a soothing tone.

I wipe the watery corners of my eyes; no point crying over spilt milk, I guess. 

“If it counts for anything, you already know my secret.” He says, sarcasm already seeping back into his voice. It doesn’t bother me though. If anything, the familiarity of it is almost comforting. 

“Secret?” I ask him, my voice still nothing but a hoarse whisper. 

“Yeah. You know _my_ secret, I should know _yours_.” He folds his arms across his chest and says matter-of-factly, “It’s only fair.” 

“What the fuck are you talking about? I don’t even know you!”

Gerard rolls his eyes. “Come on, man, the thing, with the girl, and the supply closet…? Please don’t make me go into detail.” 

“Oh, right,” I say. “that.”

“Yeah, that.” Gerard echoes. “So anyways, it’s only fair that you tell me what the fuck’s wrong with you—“ 

“Nothing’s wrong with me.” I growl, wincing when I hear how defensive I sound. 

Gerard raises an eyebrow. “Clearly.”

I look down at my feet. Gerard stays quiet, and I can tell he’s waiting for me to speak. “You barely know me.” I say. 

“That should make it easier.” And in a way, I agree with him. It’s always easier to tell a total stranger about the skeletons in your closet. But that’s because the stranger doesn’t mean anything to you, it’s because their opinion of you won’t hurt you in the long run, because you’ll probably never see them again. 

But I’ll be seeing Gerard again. He’s my best friend’s brother, he goes to my school, he’s not a stranger.

“Whatever.” I say after a few minutes that seem to drag on for an eternity. I look up at Gerard and he’s just looking at me, no emotion on his face whatsoever.

“Fine. Whatever.” He replies, and he doesn’t look mad. I meet his eyes and they hold my gaze blankly, and then he’s looking down at his hands. 

“You’re going to need to talk about it sooner or later though.” He says. And he’s right. When the day comes that someone finally breaks the dam in my head, everything will come spilling out like vomit. When I can’t hold it in any longer I will puke it out like hard liquor mixed with blood and bile, and it will be no different than that night four months ago.

“Yeah.” I say to no one, and Gerard is walking past me, down into the basement, leaving me standing in the kitchen trying to figure out what the hell I’m going to do.

 

~~

 

I bike home before the sun comes up the next morning, figuring I can’t hide from my mother forever, not that she would care whether I did or not.

The house is cold and quiet, and I sneak past my mom’s room, glancing in to see her curled up in bed, looking feeble and old.

It’s never good when you realize how weak your parents are; when you realize they aren’t the superheroes you saw them as when you were a kid.

I thoughtlessly tiptoe into her room, walking closer to see her shivering and wrapped tight in a thin sheet. Going to the closet, I take out another blanket and throw it over her. I mumble something along the lines of ‘love you, mom’ and slip out of her room, shutting the door softly behind me and climbing the stairs to the bathroom, turning the shower on so hot the mirror starts to fog up and shedding my dirty clothing.

My dad always use to tell me how in love he and my mother were. There were no two people on Earth that were more in love than my parents.

And maybe it was the stress of work, or the stress of raising a child, but one moment my parents loved each other, always smiling and holding hands, and the next they were fighting every night, slamming doors and throwing silverware and telling me to run over to Mrs. Finch’s house, the old lady next door that use to give me cookies.

It wasn’t long after they started the screaming matches that Dad suddenly just, wasn’t there anymore.

He left without an explanation, but it wasn’t like I needed one. I already knew it was my fault. It was almost 5 years ago, when I was 12, and I knew that if anyone was to blame, it was that extra mouth to feed.

So when my dad left and I realized the living burden that I was, I stopped needing attention, started giving my mom space. Eventually, the only attention I needed was from a shit ton of illegal drugs.

And if my mom never wants to talk to me again, I’m okay with that. I deserve it.

Under the heat of the water, I try to block everything out, focus on the fire pouring down my back. I look down at my skin, and it’s bright red.

And suddenly everything is red, and in the back of my head I hear ravenous barking, and blood is running down my arms from an invisible source.

I see trees in my head, reaching out for me, and I’m not in the shower anymore, I’m walking up the pathway to my house on that night 4 months ago.

The worst thing that could’ve happened is happening all over again. I bite down on my fist to keep from screaming, and my eye sight starts to get all fuzzy, black dots clouding my vision. 

My mom’s asleep, I’m about to faint, but with what little sense of reality I have I manage to shut the shower off, step out and run across the hall into my room, not even making it to the bed before I’m collapsing.

And god how I wish I could say I got right back up again, but I’d be lying, because I’m not that tough.

No, as I start to drift into unconsciousness, I curl up on the floor and bite my fist until there are tears in my eyes.

 

 


	5. (Un)wanted Company

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok. I am so mother loving sorry about how long this has taken... I promise I didn't forget or abandon this story or anything, I've had the worst writers block ever and it's taken me forever to finally write this in a non-shitty way. I HOPE YOU LIKE IT CUZ IT TOOK A LOT OF MOTHER FUCKING TIME! COMMENTS ALWAYS WELCOME! xoxoxoxoxo thank you for reading!!!!

Okay, I get that drug addictions and daddy issues and neglectful mothers and being poor are all serious real life problems, I mean, I deal with all of them on a regular basis. But right now, in my third week at Our Lady of Sorrows, much smaller problems seem to be the end of the world to me. Much smaller, curly haired, glossy lipped problems.

Stephanie Sunderhaft. 

Everyday, I come into chemistry and sit down next to her at our lab table, and everyday for that 45 minute class, it's like I'm a helpless, frail little mouse and she's a fucking hawk, waiting to strike. 

Basically, what I'm saying, in the wise words of Bob Bryar, Stephanie 'wants my dick'.

And its not like I'm against that or anything, I like sex as much as the next guy, but I'm not insane, and when a pretty, rich chic wants you, you stay the fuck away.

I mean, it's common sense. Because pretty rich girls almost always come with rich boyfriends and/or exboyfriends.

It's not the sex I'm against. It's the aftermath, the inevitable 'you fucked my girlfriend you fuckin' queer' celebratory beating. So I'm not particularly fond of black eyes and split lips and broken ribs, sue me.

But after a week or two of avoiding Stephanie's 'you aren't like the other guys here' advances, I find myself pulled into the boy's locker room after school, and there's Stephanie, shoving me against a locker and whispering some bull shit that's supposed to be sexy or something and then her tongue's in my mouth and hey, if she seriously wants it that badly, fine, I have no objections to it.

And fuck, I realize how long it's been since I've kissed someone, how long it's been since I've so much as touched someone. 

And Stephanie's pretty, and she's always been nice to me, so you know what, why shouldn't I just let go for a moment in my life? 

I'm sure nobody'll ever find out that--

"Stephanie?! What the hell is going on?" 

Fuck. 

We break apart immediately and hey, there's the guy that almost beat me up for smoking, glaring like a serial killer and inching slowly towards me. 

Again, fuck. 

"Daniel, please, you don't understand-" Stephanie pleads, but Daniel just point an accusing finger and interrupts her.

"You're messing around with this faggot!" He shouts, shoving Stephanie aside so he can push me against the lockers.

"I was looking for you and he suddenly attacked me!" She squeals, and god fucking dammit, God, what did I do to deserve this? 

"Get out of here Steph, I need to teach this fucker a thing or two." 

Stephanie runs out of the locker room and Daniel pulls his fist back.

I'm seeing stars faster than you can say 'pansy'.

~~~~

When I wake up its with one eye swollen shut. I don't know what time it is, fuck.

I get up and stumble my way out of the locker room, out of the school. It's just starting to get dark, and I catch the bus, and it occurs to me that hey, explaining my bruised and bloodied state to my mother sounds like hell, so maybe I'll just go to Mikey's.

I hop off at fern village and wander through the neighborhood, looking for the broken bird bath and the blue flower pot. Somewhere along the way it starts pouring.

And huh, just when I thought things couldn't get any worse.

Eventually 3rd street makes it's grand entrance into my one-eyed view and it's like the  
light at the end of the tunnel.

Woah. I think. Maybe Mikey's Jesus.

And maybe Daniel hit me a little too hard. 

I turn onto the street and go to the side of the Way's house, not caring whether I'm expected or not, and shove open the basement window, jumping through without so  
much as I knock.

And god must really hate me tonight, because when I get inside the warm, dry basement and look around for Mikey, he's nowhere to be found.

But look, there's Gerard sitting on the couch, frozen in the process of lighting a cigarette and staring up at me with an arched eyebrow.

He takes the cigarette out of his mouth to say "Uh... Come in?" and goes back to lighting it. 

"Hi." I say rubbing my hands together and shivering. "Fuck, do you have a towel or something?" 

Gerard gives me a look and gets off the couch, disappears into the bathroom without a word. 

From the bathroom he calls, "Why is it that you always look like shit when I see you?"

"I look like shit all the time." I retort, shaking water out of my hair. "Not just when you see me." Gerard's laughing when he comes back into the room, low and soft and pleasant. He hands me the towel and I dry my face, run it through my hair. My clothes are completely soaked, and I hesitate slightly before thinking, fuck it, and unbuttoning my uniform shirt, glancing slightly at gerard's wary gaze. I'm too tired to care, though, and my clothing falls in a wet pile around my ankles. I wrap the towel around my waste and look up to see Gerard turned away, fiddling with the stereo. 

"Do you want some clothing?"

I try to keep the enthusiasm out of my voice. "Fuck yes," it doesn't work very well. But, come on, warm clothing. 

Gerard leaves again and brings me a pile of clothing, turning away to let me change. 

"So who won?" He asks me.

"What?" 

"The fight," Gerard turns back around, smirking. "Who won?"

"Fuck you," I mumble, sitting down on the couch. Gerard only smiles wider, sits down next to me on the couch, lights another cigarette. He stares at me unashamedly for a few uncomfortable moments.

"Do you need something?" I ask.

"Was she worth that shiner?" He says, and puts his fingers against my eye softly. I flinch.

"What makes you think it was about a girl?" I reply hotly.

"Well, was it?" Gerard asks, getting up from the couch and going into the bathroom again.

"Maybe."

Laughing, Gerard comes back into the room with a wet washcloth, hands it to me. I press the cold cloth to my eye.

"This will probably sound really hypocritical, but it's a really fucking bad idea to get involved with these rich girls."

I stare at him with wide eyes. "Yeah, that does sound really fucking hypocritical." 

Gerard shrugs indifferently and lights another cigarette, holds it between his thumb and pointer finger to take a long drag.

"Well, at least don't get caught, I mean, seriously, were you fucking on the lacrosse field or something?"

"Oh, for fuck's sake!" I shout, wincing slightly as the cut on my lip reopens. "we didn't even do anything!" 

"Well, you must be one unlucky fucking bastard then." Gerard says calmly. "But for future reference, I'd stay away from these private school chics. They may seem innocent at first, but there's only one thing they want from us." Gerard takes another drag on his cigarette. "Sex." he blows the smoke in my face.

My stomach churns for reasons I don't want to think about. I shut my eyes tightly, but I still feel it when Gerard blows more smoke in my face, brushing warm and terrifying against my lips.

"I'll keep that in mind." I choke out. Gerard laughs softly and the next thing I know I'm out like a light.


End file.
